You could be happy, I hope you are
You made me happier than I'd been by far
Somehow everything I own smells of you
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true
Do the things that you always wanted to
Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do
More than anything I want to see you go
Take a glorious bite out of the whole world

-Snow Patrol: You Could Be Happy

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Sighing heavily, Draco dragged himself out of bed. Today was a gloomy day and that did not mean simply the weather. Unknowingly, he touched the place where Beatrice would have been as he walked to the armoire. He ran his fingers over the smooth oak surface of it as he opened its squeaky door. It was as though Bea’s musky scent had exploded all over the place. He slammed the doors shut as quickly as he could, causing the pile of bunk on top to topple down. Ignoring it, he stalked out of his flat, not caring that he was still in his nightclothes.

As the rain poured onto his head like little needles pricking at his conscious, he noticed that he had let his hair grow out quite a bit in the few months since…she had left. He could barely think the words as he stuffed his pale, thin hands into the pockets of his flannel pajama shirt.

Walking, he noticed a girl with brown hair cut in a bob to her square chin. She was walking a small, fluffy mutt. Quickly, Draco shook the thought from his mind. Beatrice wouldn’t live anywhere near this place; she had sure made that clear. He continued on his way, not paying any attention to the fact that his woolen house shoes were soaked through with the icy winter rain. He wished it would just snow, because rain was Bea’s favorite kind of weather. She loved the soothing sound it made on the roof of their tenth floor apartment.

Everything he ran into reminded him of her. Draco could have walked into a public restroom and he would find some connection to Beatrice Young in it. Hell, he could probably look at the cement sidewalk and find Bea’s face in it.

He sighed inwardly. How in the world had he turned this way? Before he was as cold as stone and now he was soft…thinking of a woman rather than many. That’s right…he tried to shake her name from his mind but it came back like a boomerang. Her soft voice seemed to whisper in his ear, though it was only the wind.

“Draco!”

He could swear that the wind was speaking to him. Perhaps he was going mental. No, he couldn’t be. Malfoys did not go insane. Never had that happened in their long family history and he was most certainly not going to be the first. Oh Merlin. Now the wind was tapping him on the shoulder and calling his name. Maybe he would be the first in his family to be admitted into a hospital for the mentally insane.

“Go away, Wind!” he shouted loudly, only for the dainty finger to tap him again.

“Draco, I’m not the wind. It’s me, Bea,” the voice said softly. He quickly turned around and his fears were confirmed. He was imagining things. He sighed and continued on his way. After all, she deserved happiness after making him happy. It was in fact her across the side walk, walking her dog with a new beau. He could feel tears fighting their way out of his icy eyes as he walked. She deserved this; she deserved getting a taste of the world. He wanted her to leave and to never see him again.

“You’re happy,” he whispered to the rain as the tears he was fighting flowed freely.

----------

Sleep was the only thing he could think of to do after his imaginary conversation with Beatrice. He lay in bed, wet from the rain and tears. He ignored the knock that continually rapped against the door. He ignored the shouting of his name outside it. It was all a dream; Beatrice wouldn’t come back for him, not after what he did to her.

“Draco!” she shouted from outside as the wind howled. Sighing, he got out of bed and whipped opened the door. The howling, violent storm raged outside as Bea hurried in and wrung out her newly cropped chocolate locks. She certainly wouldn’t have done that if she was with Draco.

“I missed you,” she said softly as he took her coat and threw it carelessly on the floor.

“What do you want?” he snarled.

“To talk.”

“Go.”

“W—what?”

“Go. You don’t deserve any of this; please, just go.”

And she listened. He watched once more as she walked out the door, but this time at his will rather than hers.